The Subsect by Jess Mariano
by DC Nixon
Summary: This is my interpretation of Jess' book from season six. The first six chapters are is his life before Stars Hollow, second six are is his life afterwards. Enjoy.
1. Growing Up

**Growing Up**

I was born into this life with a mother and a father. The same as everyone else. I had ten fingers and ten toes. I wasn't born with any defects. Life should be perfect, or, in the very least, normal. It wasn't. That would be too easy. Two months in and my father couldn't hack it. Left me on my own with my incompetent mother. Still, it should've been normal. People are raised by single parents all the time. Those parents however were not my mother. She was a gem. Of course, this is all hearsay. I don't remember anything before I turned three.

My first memory. It brings back a horde of memories. The screams are loud. The wall is hard. His fist is harder. Blood doesn't taste good. My mother doesn't love me. My first memory should be a happy one. If only I could be that lucky. It's strange, I grew accustomed to the taste of blood. It didn't take long for me to figure out people suck. That all people suck. Trust no one and you never get hurt. I was a quick learner.

One guy left. Another one was never far away. They were all the same. They drank. They did drugs. They all believed in action first and talking never. This isn't a fairytale. Huh. I should've mentioned that before. They never talked to me. They yelled. They argued. They bullied me. They abused me. It was normal, or so I thought. I was just a kid. They should know better. They didn't. They were all the same. The only common factor was my mother.

We were poor. My mother worked a shitty job. She never saved any money. Wasted it all on booze. Picked all the wrong guys. They stole from her. From us. We never had much food. I was lucky to get enough. I never complained though. I learned that the hard way. Blood began to taste good. When you don't eat much even your own blood starts becoming appetizing.

We lived in the city. The city was actually good. High crime rate. Lots of people. Loud noises. I loved the noise. It helped me block everything out. Helped me forget. Helped me sleep. We lived in a crappy two bedroom apartment. I was actually lucky. The kitchen and living room was one room. Not that it mattered. We had one couch and my mother never cooked.

My birthdays came and went. I never once got anything. I took it upon myself to steal a book from the library each year. The only reason I remembered the date was because I looked forward to my book stealing adventure all year. It was the only time I stole. Unless it was an apple here and there when I could feel my stomach turning on itself.

No holidays were celebrated in our crappy apartment. I didn't even know Christmas existed until later. I lost my teeth. Didn't matter though. I never knew the tooth fairy existed. Easter bunny. Not a chance. Free chocolate. I'd be in heaven and we couldn't have that. I'd be lucky if I didn't get the chance to taste my blood when that holiday came around. Fourth of July. Comforting bangs and flashes of light. New Year's Eve. I always wondered why the fireworks went off at the same time every year. It was like clockwork. I never knew why.

Year after year. I counted the years by my birthday and nothing else. I didn't know when the year kicked over for everyone else, but for me it was always on my birthday. All this could've been avoided if we had a television. I would've even settled for a radio. We had neither.

My mother hardly talked to me. When she did she was drunk. She was a mean drunk. Her boyfriends were meaner. She was supposed to teach me these things. She was supposed to be there for me. It was her job. She spent half her time at work. Half her time at some bar. I hardly ever saw her at home. When she came home she was always drunk. She reeked of alcohol. She slurred. She stumbled. I avoided her.

I looked after myself. I learned early. Oliver helped me a lot with that. Oliver Twist. It was the present I gave myself for my fifth birthday. I don't know how I learned to read. It seemed to be instinctual. Oliver was my escape. Oliver taught me what I had to do to survive. Oliver kept me entertained. Oliver gave me hope. He was just like me in many ways. I could relate to him. He found his family in the end and I hoped I'd be so lucky. Time passed. I gave up hope.

I was blissfully unaware in so many ways. I wish I could go back before everything I thought was normal was suddenly not. I knew no different. So why would I think there was any different. I figured everyone had the same life as me. The same upbringing. It all changed. My world around me just crashed. In many ways, I was thankful I now had the truth. Some days, I wished I never knew. It's easier to live without knowing. Eventually, I decided it was better knowing. So in a way, I guess, school saved me.


	2. School

**School**

School. It could be considered a haven of sorts, or a hell. Each day it changed. My first day I was brought into reality. Most family's had two parents. A father and a mother. Everyone got three meals a day. Some brought their lunch from home, some bought it at school. I had neither. I don't even know why Liz sent me. Me going to school had no value to her. All I could come up with is that she wanted me out of the apartment. She wanted me out of sight. I don't know. I still don't know.

First grade. I learned the use of a calendar. Things started falling into place after that. I could actually count how many days from one birthday to the next. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Fifty-two weeks. Twelve months. I could tell you how many hours, minutes and seconds too.

Time. Time represented everything. Life was ruled by time. Daytime. Nighttime. Early morning. Morning. Midday. Afternoon. Evening. Late evening. Night. It made things hard for me. Before I knew, it didn't matter. Once I knew breakfast happened in the morning. Lunch happened at midday. Dinner happened in the evening. It made having next to no food in the house hard. I knew it was time to eat, but I couldn't. It was hard.

I was thankful I could already read. It made school all that much easier. There was a teacher. One teacher for twenty odd students. It always seemed like an unfair ratio to me. It didn't matter though. One look at the writing on the board. The sums on the board. It all clicked. I finally understood something fully. There were questions. There were answers. School was easy. In Math there was only one answer. In English there were no wrong answers. Not that I ever raised my hand. The teacher explained. I absorbed the information. I read until we moved onto the next subject. Tests came around. Pop quizzes never bothered me. I had all the right answers. School was easy. Too easy.

The teachers became aggravated with me. I aced their tests. What more did they want? They hated that I didn't participate in class. I could never understand why. I didn't know how important students were in a class. I never knew that a good class was only good because of both teacher and student contributions. I couldn't understand that something I thought. Something I believed. Would change a teacher's opinion of me. Would change the course of the class. Would open up the teacher and other students to new and different ideas. I didn't know. I can't help and think that going back now I would be the same. I still wouldn't contribute and I find that sad.

I got sick of the teachers. At first it was just one class. I sat behind the gym. I went to the next class expecting to get in trouble. It never came. I did it again and again. I never got caught. I wondered why that was. Was it because they didn't notice, or because they didn't care? Didn't care about me. It didn't bother me. I found a park. A park with an arch. An arch that served no purpose. It was home. It felt like home. I cut class. I cut whole days. I spent the day reading in the park. It was the same as school, but more freeing. I was getting fresh air. I was studying people. Learning street smarts not book smarts. I went to a class every now and then. I learned the new subject within that class and then cut again. I went enough to pass each grade. And for me that was enough. It wasn't too much. It wasn't too little. It was a good balance for me.

The kids picked on me. They didn't understand me. I was different from them. I steered clear from them in the beginning. I was smarter than them. I was above it all. They were most likely only lashing out to feel superior. I didn't need that. I already felt as though I'd never amount to anything and the idea of making someone else miserable on the off chance I'd feel better about myself and my shitty life, just never sat right with me. The only time I retaliated was when they got physical. I got that shit at home. I didn't need it at school. I never taunted. I never spoke a word. I just let my fists do the talking. Cuts heal. Bruises fade. Words stick.

It wasn't long until they feared me. They knew I wasn't meant to me messed with. I could hold my own and I did. They left me alone after a while. I was thankful. I was regretful. I had portrayed myself as a ferocious monster. Someone to be feared. Deep down I needed a friend. Not even a friend. Just someone. I didn't need to confide in them. They didn't need to talk to me. They just needed to be there. Their presence would have a calming effect on me. I screwed myself up on that avenue. No one would get close enough to me. I thought that was a good thing. I was proved wrong though. By my first and only friend.


	3. Friends

**Friends**

Friends. Associates. Acquaintances. Someone who helps you. Someone who you regard above others. Someone you trust. I'm fairly certain I've never had a true friend. You may disagree and that's your right. When I was younger I was too afraid to get close to others. Afraid they'd hurt me. Afraid I'd get too attached. Afraid they'd leave. Just afraid. I didn't want to receive something I could never reciprocate. I didn't have the ability to care. Or the ability to trust someone fully. It just wasn't fair. Wasn't fair to anyone involved.

My first friend. He wasn't really a true friend. Not by society's standards at least. But to me, he was. He stuck by me. He was with me during the good times and the bad. He kept me grounded. He kept me out of trouble. His name was Oliver Twist. He was imaginary. He was my best friend. I could see him plain as day. He was always there. He wasn't real. I didn't care. It didn't matter. He was always there for me. He vanished when I was eight. Probably went to find his real family. I haven't seen him since.

After Oliver left, I was slightly corrupted. I now craved some form of attention. Only problem, I was still too afraid to find that within a friend. There was this girl at school. Possibly just like me. Most likely not. I noticed her every time I bothered to show up. She had no friends. She kept to herself. She reminded me of me. I never talked to her. I never even knew her name. Our paths never crossed. I watched her from afar. Just the thought of her made me feel less alone. One day. It only takes one day. It was years after I first saw her. She was gone. Just like Oliver. Here one day. Gone the next.

I began cutting class more after she left. There was even less there for me now. I tried reading. Tried getting lost in the words on the page. It didn't work. Once again I craved contact. Any form of contact with others. It didn't take me long to realize I could find what I was seeking in anybody. It didn't matter who they were. How old. Their gender. None of those things mattered. All that mattered is they were there for me.

The Subway. America's finest. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Twenty-four lines. Four hundred and sixty-eight stations. Millions of passengers per day. Everyone was there for a different purpose. The Subway didn't discriminate. Sixth Train. I rode as long as I could stand it. I picked my unsuspecting target. I observed them. I figured them out. Why they were riding the subway. Who they were. What they left at home. What their purpose in life was. They left. I picked another passenger. Once again, it made me feel a little less alone. But they all left. No one was stupid enough to ride all day. But I was.

I couldn't understand why people just vanished from my life. They were there one minute and gone the next. I never knew why. I was always too afraid to get close. I would have the answer if I got close. But I wasn't willing to risk it. I don't know what I was risking. I guess I just wasn't willing to give what I'd most likely receive. That's why I refused to ever say goodbye. If I never said goodbye then they were never truly gone. Though, the abusive boyfriends could've stayed gone, but some just insisted on coming back.


	4. Potential Stepfathers-Abusive Boyfriends

**Potential Stepfathers/Abusive Boyfriends**

Stepfathers. I use that term loosely. I prefer the term abusive boyfriends. They were never a father to me. Some were there a week. Others years. I feel bad to call all my mother's boyfriends abusive because there was one I actually did like. One amongst the others that gave me hope. He was different. He never hit me. He never said a bad word. He seemed to care for me. Even more so than my mother. He looked at me as his son. We did normal father/son things together. He brought me books. I actually liked him. He was a decent man. He even tried to set my mother straight. It didn't work though. My mother kept drinking and my potential stepfather couldn't take it anymore. He said goodbye to me before he left. Even gave me some money. Told me to hide it from my mother and keep it until I broke free. I did. He left. He left me with hope. He left me with the ability to care one day, should I choose. He left me with a false sense of security.

I won't bother to mention him again. I'm thankful he showed me how to care. How to love. But the others were the complete opposite of him. They were mean. Mean mightn't seem like the right word to describe someone who abuses others, but to me it sums it up perfectly. They have a complete lack of morality and are usually characterized by malice. Mean may be a simple term, but that's what they were. They'll always be that to me. Mean. They didn't care about me. They didn't even care about my mother half the time. They showed no mercy. Sometimes I got in the way. Sometimes I spoke when I wasn't supposed to. Sometimes I just annoyed them. And sometimes they sought me out. For no reason at all.

I still remember the first thing I was called ' _a useless piece of shit._ ' I was too young to understand it at the time. But the tone he used. I just knew. I just knew it wasn't a good thing. It made me feel unbelievably sad. I did feel useless. I didn't know what it was, but I felt it. The insults got worse over the years. I stopped paying attention to them after a while. I went straight into defensive mode. It was a coping mechanism. When one would call me something I would quickly repeat a mantra in my head about that particular guy. My favorite, ' _at least I don't hit like a girl and with a name like that I can see why you do_.' His name was Lesley. The name still amuses me. So that's what I did. I made fun of them. Mentally of course. I was above them. It made me forget their insult straight away and made me feel better in general.

Unfortunately I couldn't use this coping mechanism for the physical abuse. The physical abuse was painful to say the least. I don't think I can describe it. I don't think you'd understand. It's not something that can be written down. You can't just pull it off the page and claim you understand. I don't care. I'm going to write it anyway, but don't come to me and tell me you understand because you don't. Unsuspecting. Minding your own business. It comes out of nowhere. Searing pain. Lessened pain. Numbness. Contact. Fist. Wall. Random furniture. Sickening crunch. Bones breaking. Searing pain. Blood. Red. It runs. It feels good. It's oddly comforting. The more blood the quicker they stop. The taste. Coppery. An acquired taste. Sadly I have acquired it. Left alone. Pain. Blood. Broken bones. Numbness. The darkness takes a hold of me. I welcome it. I wake up alone.

The first time I fought back. The first time I really fought back. I was fueled by anger. There was a red haze. There was a second of clarity. One second. Decisions split. Go forth with anger, or retreat for self-preservation. My anger blinded me. I pressed forward. My fist connected. I felt powerful. Again and again. I was seething now. The anger visibly coming off me. I saw the blood before he tasted it. I'm sure I looked murderous. I felt it. I kept on going. I couldn't stop. I knocked him unconscious. I wasn't afraid anymore. He got me back though. Worse than I got him. I decided then not to fight back anymore. My broken and bruised body was left on the floor. It was hard to breathe. It took weeks for everything to heal. I learned my lesson. I learned to avoid the apartment. If I wasn't home then I wouldn't be subjected. I spent my nights on the streets. Skillfully avoiding. It wasn't foolproof, but the odds were better. Those nights on the street led me to my life of crime. It was illegal. But is crime really illegal if you don't get caught?


	5. Crime

**Crime**

Crime. Punishable by law. If you get caught. If you don't get caught. If there's no trial. Then it's not necessarily a bad thing. That's what I believed. I started out young. Stealing one book a year on my birthday. Pretty trivial when you consider what I got into later in life. I only stole the book because I loved to read. It was from a library and I didn't know you could borrow the books. My mother usually threw them out before I would've had the chance to return them anyway. I progressed slowly. My mother either didn't understand, or simply didn't care, that I needed three meals a day. I started out stealing apples from an outdoor fruit market. Just enough to tide me over for the time being. It was never enough though.

The abusive boyfriends forced me out on the street. Sometimes I had to spend the night. Other times I spent the night because I was too afraid to go home. I took to sleeping in the park. The park with the arch that served no purpose. The park was familiar. I knew the layout. I knew my escape route. It was uncomfortable. It was cold. I wasn't fearful. That's what I liked most about sleeping in the park. It felt safe. Though thinking back now, it was probably the least safest place to be. Several times I was approached by the police. They simply shined their flashlight in my face. Asked if I had a place to stay. Then moved on. I always circled the park and then went back to my bench. It was always the same bench. I liked the familiarity of that.

There were times I had to defend myself. Sometimes I knew the attacker. Sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I instigated the fight. Sought them out. I needed to feel powerful. In control. I just needed to feel something. Anything. Sometimes it was over territory. I claimed the corner of the park where my bench was located and I fought anyone who tried to take it from me. Some cried wolf. Tried to press charges. The majority should've been lucky that I didn't press charges. I never called the police. Never. I knew better. The police came again. This time for assault and battery. I was never charged. They took pity on me. I was let off with a warning.

Misdemeanors. A lesser crime. Usually punishable by a warning, fine, or small amount of jail time. All I had committed so far in life were misdemeanors. But there comes a time in life where misdemeanors just don't cut it anymore. Causing trouble. Not getting caught. Not getting punished. It becomes boring. You want something to change. You want to be sent away. You just need something to happen. Misdemeanors differ greatly from felonies. Felonies are tricky. Some felonies get you jail time. Other felonies get you the death sentence. I didn't want to die. Then again, my life wasn't much better than death. I wasn't going to kill anyone. Or maim anyone for that matter. The first and only felony I committed got me six months in a juvenile detention center. I got off easy.

My first felony. Makes me feel nostalgic. It was the stone that made the ripple. The effects from this one crime set my life into motion. It shifted course. I just didn't know it at the time. I stole a car. I didn't really have a reason. I was bored. The car was unlocked. The keys were in the ignition. I was bored. I didn't have any driving experience. It wasn't that hard to figure out. I was doing fine until I was cut off. I panicked. I turned the wheel. I crashed into a tree. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. I was fine. Everyone was fine. The car was totaled. I was going to run, but the police showed up. I knew I wouldn't get off lightly this time. I didn't care.

The police. The cops. Everyone has a different name for them. I don't despise them. They're just doing their job. They pulled me from the wreck. They handcuffed me. They put me in the back of the police car. Even told me to watch my head. They read me my rights. Took me to the station. I didn't know the procedures. I was just glad that something was happening. Life had become a big rut. I was stuck. I was bored. And I didn't like where my life was going. This was definitely a welcome change. They fingerprinted me. Took my photo. Threw me in a cell with some drunk guy. They gave me a phone call. I declined. I had no one to call. No one posted bail. I stayed locked up until my trial. Twenty-three days later. It was a long twenty-three days.

The morning before my court date they asked if I had a lawyer. I told them no. They said they would appoint one for me. I declined. If I was being sent away I wanted a say in it. I didn't want to be able to blame some hotshot lawyer. I wanted to blame myself. They tried to get me to reconsider. I didn't listen. The time came and I was escorted into the court room. Shackled. Thankfully they trusted me enough to unchain me. The trial was fairly simple. I had an opening statement. I plead guilty. I gave my account. I gave a closing statement. I convinced the judge to lessen the sentence from one year to six months by showing remorse. I didn't care. Six months was nothing in a lifetime.

Juvenile detention. Juvie. A place where likeminded kids go for punishment. We'd all committed crimes. We should all be on the same level. However there was a hierarchy, and unfortunately I fell on the bottom of that. The first time I got beat up I thought I'd made a mistake. I got this at home. I didn't need it here. I fought back. I rose in the hierarchy until I was at the top. Everyone wanted to be my friend. I had no friends. I still got into fights, but I won the majority of them. Everyone sucked up to me. I put some normalcy back into the place. I made it so no one lived in fear. They still feared me. I was above them all. But I made it so everyone was equal. Before I left, I made good with all of them. So that when I left, no one would replace me and take over. No one was scared of anyone else. They all just co-existed.

I learned a lot in there. The most important, that even if you don't get caught it's still illegal. Everything counts. Everything adds up. Crime is not something to be messed with because you're bored. I learned that. I was thankful for that. They freed me. I went back to the apartment. My mother was waiting for me. It surprised me. But that was just her. Sometimes she did something and it made me forget who she truly was. It gave me hope. False hope.


	6. My Mother

**My Mother**

My mother. She gave me life. I still don't know if that was a wise decision on her part. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't exist. Simpler. But it's too late to change that now.

My mother didn't have many friends. She was pretty much a loner. She only spent time with her boyfriends and any friends she picked up from work. If she had a job. You'd think she'd spend her time with me. I was always here. I was always around. She never did. I never knew why. I convinced myself she liked to be alone. But when she brought someone home it crushed me. She would sit with them. She would eat with them. She would talk with them. She would laugh with them. And where was I? Holed up in my room. You can only be told to go away so many times before you give up. I tried to avoid her. Stay in my room as often as I could. I guess my room was kind of a safe haven. But I knew it wasn't. That whole apartment was tainted.

My mother had several jobs when I was growing up. All menial. But that's no excuse. People can work in menial jobs all their life with shitty pay. It only takes some self-management to turn your lack of pay into a small fortune. My mother never got the concept of saving though. She always spent it as soon as she got it. And usually on frivolous things that we didn't need. Compared to things we could use like food. Or utilities. She could never keep one job longer than a year. Maybe if she actually tried, she'd move on up the proverbial ladder. She never did. She was always fired for stupid reasons. Like not listening. Talking back. She should know better than that. There were many times when she just quit because she'd had enough. She never waited until she had another job lined up. She just quit and spent the next six months trying to find a new one. We had no food. They even turned off the power, gas and water because we were late. We were lucky we never lost the apartment.

Sometimes my mother's boyfriends paid the rent and utilities. I didn't like it when that happened. Once they paid for something they felt entitled. Like they had a say in things. That they now lived here. With us. With me. My mother never knew they beat me. She saw the bruises. The cuts. The broken bones. I stupidly told her I got into fights. But none of that explained the blood on the carpet. The broken glass. Broken furniture. My mother's own bruises. I always suspected deep down that she knew. But I couldn't be sure. She must've seen the flash of sheer terror that passed through my eyes every time she brought home a new boyfriend. Nothing made sense on that front. I never brought it up though. What was she going to do? How could she help me? I was afraid. I was afraid if I brought it up that she'd choose them over me.

My mother was drunk half the time. Sometimes just tipsy. Sometimes full blown drunk. I don't know which one I preferred out of the two. If she was tipsy. She was mean. She spoke her mind. She taunted me with her words. But when she was full blown drunk. I had to hold her hair when she threw up. I had to look after her. I had to put her to bed. And then she'd pass out. It always left me feeling alone. The apartment turned eerily silent. I sat and watched her sleep sometimes. It was the only time she wouldn't tell me to go away. There was one thing I forgot to mention though. There was an in-between. Some place in the middle. I call it her happy drunk stage. A time where she's neither here nor there. That time was always the worst. She was caring. She told me that she loved me. She apologized. She acted like a real mother. That's why it was the worst. She'd wake up. She wouldn't remember. And I was left to pick up the pieces. Left to go back. It was hard to go back after I had a taste of how good it could never be.

Drugs were the worst out of everything. I hate drugs so much. I hate them with a passion. My mother did drugs. Hardcore drugs. That didn't bother me much. I was already used to a drunk mother. And a stoned mother wasn't that different. What got me the most. What hurt me the most. Was that her boyfriends showed her this lifestyle. Her boyfriends. They had no connection to me. I should be blaming them solely, but I can't. I hold my mother responsible for this. Even though she probably doesn't even know about it. I was young. I can't remember how young. One of them offered me a cigarette. Told me it'd calm me down. Convinced me it was something everyone did. I tried it. I had no reason not to. I got addicted. I found out later that drugs were bad. But it was too late. I was already hooked on other drugs like marijuana, cocaine, and such. The same boyfriend gave them to me. When I found out they were bad for me I shook the habit. It was hard. The hardest thing I've ever had to do. I did it by convincing myself that I was better than them. That I didn't want to willingly act like my mother. I shook all the hard drugs. I still smoke cigarettes at times. But I try and limit it to when I really need them. It calms me. It soothes me. It brings me back down. Back down to rational thoughts. I need it. I rely on them. I wish I didn't. I've tried not to. But it's a constant battle I can't seem to win.

My mother has a brother. Never told me about him though. Sometimes I'd catch her on the phone talking to him. She seemed happy. Carefree. Her smile was so big. I wished she'd smile at me like that. I could tell she loved him. She told him about me. All good things. She painted a perfect picture of our life to him. She made it seem as though it was good. When truthfully it was far from it. Sometimes she'd talk about him to me. She was always drunk though. Hardly coherent. I found out he was present at my birth. That he held me in his arms. That he was happy. But I also heard how he kicked my mother out of his house because she got pregnant. I knew nothing about him. He never called. He never sent any cards. Nothing. It was like he didn't even exist. Like he only existed for her.

All this surprised me because as soon as I got out of juvie my mother informed me I was going to live with him. I was thankful. I was fearful. But I knew I needed a change. My mother and I weren't good for each other. The time apart should do us good. Truthfully, I just needed to get out. And I'd take living with some uncle I didn't know over spending my nights on the streets any day. It turned out to be a good move on my mother's part. So I guess in the end, she did do something good for me.


	7. The Subsect

**The Subsect**

This is the middle of my story. But really it's the beginning. I was finally getting the fresh start I was never given. The fresh start I needed. A new town. New people. A new life. A subsect. The Subsect. The most important sub-section of my life. We all have several subsects throughout life. Moving out of home and going away to college is a major subsect for most people. For me, this was it. This subsect would put me on the path that led me to where I am now. I'm thankful. I just didn't know it at the time.

The town my mother shipped me off to was, well, hell. It was so different from what I was used to. And not a good different. I don't even know where to start. Three left turns and you're back in the center of town. Several ceramic cat and unicorn stores. Three too many to be exact. I couldn't help but notice the differences between this small town and the city I'd grown up in. The city was noisy. Bustling. There was bustling here in a small town way. But it was quiet, too quiet. And the people were even worse.

The town was run by a deranged dictator. He was a mad man. Enforcing ridiculous rules and laws. No strolling arm in arm with the opposite sex on a Sunday. The man was crazy. Systematically buying up the whole town. Turning it into Tourist-ville. I mostly avoided him. Messed with him when I was bored. It was just fun to piss him off. He knew it was me. He always did. This town had no crime rate before I moved here. He was the judge, jury and executioner. He liked to think he was the enforcer as well. Thankfully the town was smart enough not to let him have that much power.

The dictator had a right-hand man. But his right-hand man was way more than that. In my opinion, he was the one to watch out for. In a way he was 'systematically buying up the town' in his own way. He worked at every business. No job was beneath him. Or above him for that matter. He was crazier than the dictator. He didn't have the ability to express or deal with emotions. He was like me in that respect. But where I shut people out, he did the complete opposite. He let them in. Sometimes he said the wrong thing. Sometimes he was insensitive. Truthfully, I think he just spoke his mind and we were all jealous of that.

This town had the worst and the best gossip mill I'd even encountered. Two women reigned as queens. Thought there was a third always vying for that top position. She was mysterious. No one knew who she was. Only a name. I've always suspected it wasn't a woman at all. I always thought that it was the dictator. But it was never confirmed. So the two women reigned. Probably still do to this day. Both were overly-friendly, well-rounded women. One had an unhealthy obsession with her cat and several garden gnomes. The other woman was overly-affectionate with people. Of the opposite sex mainly. There wasn't one piece of skin on your body she couldn't pinch. They were both completely harmless though.

One bookstore. And no public library. There were times I wished I'd packed more books then clothes during my move. Thankfully the bookstore owner was one of the few who didn't think I was a juvenile delinquent. He let me use his bookstore as a library. I spent countless hours in between the shelves just reading. He even let me borrow books. I'd return them and he'd just put them back on the shelf to sell. He was the closest friend I had for a time. We hardly spoke. We had more of an unspoken relationship.

And then finally. Well for this chapter at least. There was her. She was an older woman. We never really had a relationship. The closest we came was over day old Chinese food. But I screwed it up. I always did. We got off on the wrong foot. She was trying to be my mother. Trying to look out for me. I didn't need anyone. I didn't want another mother. I didn't want to be let down. Again. I didn't want to let her down. She would become family down the track. One way or another. Even the blind could see the relationship forming between her and my uncle. They were both just too scared to jump in.


	8. My Uncle

**My Uncle**

My uncle. My legal guardian. Forty-something. Slightly balding. Flannel clad. Baseball cap of the backwards variety. Day old stubble. Business owner. Self-sufficient loner. Unselfish. Loving. Caring. Big. Burley. Gruff exterior. Soft interior. He was so many things. I could describe him forever. He was a complicated, but simple man at the same time. There were times he reminded me of my potential step-fathers. It took me a long time to trust him, but eventually I did.

He constantly wanted what was best for me. He wouldn't let me slip through the cracks. I hated him for it at first. It was so overbearing. So foreign. He told me what not to do. He asked me where I was going. I never had anyone to answer to until that point. With the bad came the good. He made me more accountable. He made me stop smoking, a feat I couldn't achieve on my own. If I stole, he made me repay. He was a good guy doing the best he could and that's more than I can say for my mother.

It was hard for me to believe he was related to my mother. They grew up together. They should be alike. They were far from it. My uncle never told me to go away. He always listened. He always offered help. He fed me. He didn't hit me. He asked how I was doing in school. Made sure I attended. Did the work. Didn't get into too much trouble. He was there for me like my mother never was. He cared for me like my mother never could. I started to rely on him.

We weren't similar. I loved to read books. My uncle read magazines. I liked to take the easy way out. My uncle worked hard. We struggled to find middle ground. When we found it, nothing stopped us. The people in this town became our bonding point. The dictator and his right hand man. The gossip queens. The bagboy. The coffee junkie and her daughter. This town was full of crazy people who needed to be mocked and we mocked them. Sometimes silently. A nod here. A shared look there. But it brought us closer together.

My uncle's good qualities started to rub off on me. Perhaps they were forced onto me. I started working hard, harder than him, but at all the wrong things. I would read like crazy, but nothing for school. I would work hard, but not for my uncle. I pushed him away as I tried to emulate him. To become more like him. To become a better man. Someone who helped others. Someone who could be relied on. It worked to an extent, but it was never enough. My past was too extensive. It was ingrained in me. The more I tried to break free, the more I got sucked back under.

My uncle never gave up on me, but his support wasn't enough anymore. Not when I got to know her. I think I fell instantly. Every time I tried to get up. To run away. She pushed me back down. I didn't mind. I felt as though I belonged at her feet. Serving her to the best of my ability. I started trying for her, but it still wasn't enough. She didn't seem to care. Although she wasn't mine. I knew one day she would be.


	9. The Girl

**The Girl**

The first thing that drew me to her was her love of books. Her room was a shrine to reading and I fell instantly. I skimmed my fingers over the books, hoping I'd found my library in this town. I stole her books. I loved how she huffed when she found out. How her nose crinkled up in dissatisfaction when she found I defaced them. She got books. She got me.

As time progressed, I found she was taken. She had a boyfriend and not a good one. He was tall. Infuriating. Simple. He wasn't me. I sat by and watched them together. Touches. Kisses. He got to hold her when I didn't. It was irrational, but it didn't feel fair to me. An injustice. I started fighting for her and annoying him in the process. Not my finest moment. Not a regret.

It started small. Shared looks across the room. Simple smiles that hid so much. A sleigh ride. I tried to become her knight in shining armor, even though I had no reference. I brought her food. I attempted to return her lost bracelet. I helped her when she was soaking wet and in a panic. I did all I could. I tried harder than I ever had. It wasn't enough. It never was. She always went back to him, but that didn't stop me.

We were becoming good friends. I ruined it. It was a good night. I wasn't focusing. I asked her to get ice cream. In cones. She agreed with only a little persuasion. We drove. We talked. She believed in me. She wanted me to do more. Be more. I brushed her off. She didn't know me. She didn't know my story. She couldn't understand. We were almost back. We turned right. I hurt her. My uncle consoled me. It wasn't enough. I ran to the city.

She came to me. Nothing was said. We just enjoyed ourselves. I showed her the good parts of the city. The park with the arch that served no purpose. The best hotdogs. The subway I loved to ride. I took her to my favorite record store. I showed her all the good. Never the bad. It was the perfect day. When she left, she wanted me to say goodbye. I didn't want to. My mind refused. I couldn't deny her. I said goodbye and she went home.

The city lost all the good when she left. It felt as though she took a piece of me with her. It didn't take long. I followed her. I met her at the back of an inn. She was dressed up. She looked beautiful. She was shocked to see me. I didn't care. Seeing her made me so happy. Made me feel complete. She was just as I remembered. Perhaps even better. She kissed me. I kissed her back. She pulled away. I didn't want her to. She welcomed me home. She ran. She ran to Washington. She left me alone.


	10. The Distraction

**The Distraction**

I came back for her and she left me. I felt so foolish. I'd given up the city for her. For what? Nothing. She left me just like everyone else. She kissed me, filled me with hope, then nothing. No letter. No phone call. No smoke signal. Nothing. It was only for the summer.

My uncle kept me from running back to the city. He didn't say anything. He was happy I was back. No one had ever been happy about my existence before. I worked hard for him. Trying to keep myself busy. Waiting my sentence out. The girl would be back. Summer would end. She'd return. I'd be here. Waiting.

I met the distraction and that's all she was. A distraction. She babbled. I used her lips to silence her. I used her body for my gain. Hers too. But she wasn't her. Not even close. She passed the time. Made me feel less alone. I tried to form a connection. Nothing happened.

The girl returned. She wouldn't talk to me. She made up excuses. She soon forgot the kiss we shared. She went back to her boyfriend. She slayed me. I stayed with my distraction. I wanted to hurt the girl. I wanted her to see me with someone other than her. To see the lips that touched hers kissing someone else. She needed to feel the pain I felt.

There were many showdowns. The girl and her boyfriend. Me and my distraction. We were using them. They either didn't know, or didn't care. They were pawns in our sick and twisted game. It all came to a head. Her boyfriend snapped. He broke up with her in front of everyone. It was a dick move. I wanted to be happy, but I couldn't. She looked so shocked, so heartbroken. She didn't deserve this. I did this. I pushed her. I upset everything. It was all me. I was selfish.

No matter how it came about. It came about. I searched the whole town for her. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to make sure she was okay. I found her on my bridge. I should've checked there first, but I was putting it off. She was honest with me. For the first time. Even with my silence she didn't backtrack. I returned her honesty. It was tough. Foreign. But needed. I broke it off with the distraction and made the girl, my girl.


	11. My Girl

**My Girl**

I had her. I actually had her. When I first met her, I never thought this day would come. It was a dream. A foolish dream. She became my girl and things were perfect. I tried so hard to be the boyfriend she deserved. I'd never been a friend before yet alone a boyfriend. It was tough. I tried so hard.

I tried to get along with her mother. I made chit-chat. I ate a cold egg roll. I tried to get along with her grandmother. I was polite. I dressed up. Nothing I did was ever good enough. Everyone put their two cents in. My uncle. Her mother. The town. Everyone thought they had a say.

Her boyfriend didn't leave like I expected. They became friends. I didn't like it. He made me irrational. He pushed me. He constantly told me that my girl would be his again. I didn't like it. I started to believe it. Words were always the hardest to shake.

We had our moments. My girl and me. They were inconsequential things. Many of the things we did before we got together. Shared looks and smiles. Shared books and music. We talked for hours on end. We bonded. We connected. We kissed. I let her in and I didn't regret it. She was it for me. She was so beautiful. So smart. We fit together well, but I was never meant to be happy.

I don't know what caused our downfall. I think we were doomed from the day I stepped into town. We were never meant to work, but that didn't change my feelings towards her. Physically we were good. Emotionally I sucked. I dragged her down too. I didn't call her. I didn't set up dates. We didn't leave town. We just existed. I was a terrible boyfriend.

I missed prom. It crushed her. I tried to force her. She ran. I got kicked out of school. I worked too hard on the unimportant things. I got into a fight with her ex-boyfriend. I did some stupid shit. My father showed up. I was confused. He was my dad. She was my girl. I was ruining her. I could see that. Everyone told me constantly. I did the only thing I could. The only thing I was good at. I didn't tell her goodbye. I didn't want her to be truly gone. I wanted to hold on even though I didn't deserve it. She was better off without me. I ran.


	12. Moving Forward

**Moving Forward**

I went to California. I had nowhere else. I needed to know why my dad left me. Needed to know who he was. If he was good, or bad. I just needed to know. I stayed with him and his family, but it was too hard. Everything he was. The successful business. The new family. The house he owned. Reminded me of everything I was denied growing up. I couldn't stay. It was too toxic.

I headed back to the city. My home. I always came back here. It was familiar. It was safe. I didn't look up my mother. I didn't want to see her. I got a job and I worked hard. I got roommates, but that's all they were. I was trying to move forward. It was futile. My mother called and told me my uncle had my car. I didn't want it. It was a piece of junk. But it was in the town she lived. I had to go back.

Being back was torture. Everything reminded me of my girl. Everything. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to run and never look back. I tried. My car broke down and I was forced back. My uncle took me in. I told him I was gone as soon as my car was fixed. I ran into my girl everywhere. The bakery. The bookstore. The bridge. She was everywhere. I ran every time. Afraid. My car was fixed. I was leaving. Then I saw her again. I stopped and ran towards her. We had a standoff. I told her I loved her. I ran. I didn't look back.

I settled back into my new life. My roommates sucked. They weren't my friends. I worked as much as I could. Saving as much as I could. My uncle came one day. He wasn't impressed. He told me my mother was getting married. I didn't want to hear it. He asked me to come. I didn't want to. I did.

The wedding sucked. Seeing my mother happy was an injustice. Her new husband was neither a potential step-father or an abusive boyfriend. I didn't like him. I didn't like that they were happy. I'd never made my mom that happy. It was unfair. I stuck around only as long as necessary. On my way out, I paid my uncle back. I owed him so much. He said it wasn't needed, but it was. We hugged.

I didn't see her at all. I was thankful. I was unsatisfied. I felt as though my confession was enough. The ball was in her court now. I'd laid it all out on the line. She needed to come to me. I was wrong. So wrong. As I passed by her college. I had to go in. Her ex-boyfriend was there. It didn't stop me. I demanded to talk to her. She listened. I asked her to come with me. To run away together. She told me no. I pressed. She told me no again. I gave up. She didn't love me as much as I loved her. She deserved better than me.

I didn't go back to the city. I couldn't. I needed a proper fresh start. I needed to get away from it all. I needed to get away from her. I ended up in another city, but this one was more my speed. I made friends. My first ever friends. We were likeminded. I fit in here. This was home. We created a company and I worked hard. I worked on forgetting her and moving forward. It worked. I was living my own life for once. I was happy. It was a first. I had a home. I had a job I loved. Friends. I had it all. Everything was perfect, except her. I still wanted her, but she deserved better than me.

I was going to be better. It was probably a foolish idea. I didn't care. She told me I could do more. Be more. She believed in me. It was time I listened. It was time I stepped up to the plate. She deserved me. She deserved the best version of me. This version. The one I was creating. I wasn't going to seek her out. I wasn't going to act foolishly. I was going to build something. I was going to be better. Not for her, but for me. I deserved it. And one day, I'd deserve her.

 **The End**

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 **A/N:** Be sure to check out my other Rory/Jess full length fics: The Ripple Effect (2008) - University of Texas (2008) - Holden and LJ (2008) - I Can't Read Your Mind (2008) - FYI IdkYou (2008) - Juvenile Delinquents (2009)


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